A/N: Don't kill me people! eep! I hate reading italics so I use them sparingly and don't use them for flashbacks, I feel like you're intelligent enough to grasp when you are reading one. So, Mikey is now about 4, Don is 6, Raph is 7 and Leo is now 8 almost 9.

"Kids are like dogs. You knock 'em around enough, they'll get to thinkin' they deserved it."

– Sawyer, LOST

Chapter 4 – Where the Heart is

4 years later…

"Cugh, cugh," he coughed and wiped his nose. "Cuh, cuh, cugh."

Don pressed the palm of his hand hard against his mouth, holding in the cough until his eyes began to water. His chest burned until the urge couldn't be restrained any longer and the coughing came even harder and lasted even longer than before. Dropping the screwdriver he clutched in his left fist, he sat forward, bracing his body with his hands against the floor as his body trembled and shook from the violent coughing fit. His chest squeezed painfully. Shaking, he gathered a fist-full of his tattered gray t-shirt he wore and wiped his mouth as the hacking eased off into panting gasps.

Michelangelo looked up at him from where he lay on his plastron, coloring on a piece of cereal box turned inside out. One cheek was propped by a chubby fist; a thick chunk of what was remaining from a green crayon in the other. The crayons had been a present from Raph two days ago after he and Leo had come back from the junk-yard with supplies. Since he was presented with them, Mikey hadn't put the waxy sticks down for more than a minute or two. Already most were worn down to little more than stubs that he held carefully between thumb and finger in order to use them.

"You 'k? Donnie, You coughin'."

Don could only nod, eyes watering. Mikey smiled and went back to coloring his picture. He hummed softly to himself; kicking his feet gently bouncing them off the back of his shell.

Don tucked his knees beneath the excess fabric of the t-shirt and gazed over his shoulder at the door to their dad's room. He held his breath, then coughed lightly as he exhaled into his shoulder, trying to muffle the sound. The curtain that served as a door remained still. No shadows and no sound came from the adjacent room. Their dad was still asleep, thank goodness. He didn't want his coughing fits to wake him up again. He needed his rest. He was sick, too.

This autumn had been non-stop rain and even down here in the deep tunnels, the dampness crept through the bricks and pipes. It was getting cold again. The nights found them shivering beneath thin blankets that barely covered their whole bodies. Don coughed and shivered and pulled his arms into the baggy sleeves of the t-shirt; hugging his knees closer to his chest; pulling in his stomach; hoping it would make the hunger pains lessen. His eyes went to the entranceway. He climbed to his feet and pulled his arms back through the sleeves. One foot nudged the screwdriver to the side; near the rusted metal box that held his other prized possessions: a hammer, two wrenches, a pair of pliers, several other screwdrivers, bits of wire and metal plates, various sized screws and nails.

They'd salvaged what they could from the time the worker men roamed the tunnels muttering with their rough loud voices, making noise as they hammered on pipes, and smoking. Scrag had told them to stay away from the bad humans, but when he stole the men's food, Don would creep closer in the shadows and grab what he could. It was risky, but well worth it. He now had a collection of tools that he cherished. Sometimes he would just sit and hold the various items. Just the feel of the pliers or wrench in his hand gave him comfort. But now the tunnels in their area were empty of the bad humans. There were no more bags of food. They wouldn't be back again until the weather grew warm and humid. When going above left you breathless from the power of the sun beating on the back of your head and your body covered in sweat.

Mikey watched him as Don crossed the room and stood by the hallway; peering inside for any sign of their older brothers. He rubbed his stomach and Mikey felt the all too familiar ache in his middle. He sat up. Don stood there for another minute then moved into the area that was their kitchen.

He stepped around the plastic container filled with the food set aside just for their dad. No one was allowed to get into it. Ever. Don closed his eyes as he moved around it, not wanting to see the packages of crackers and cookies. But his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he caught the sharp smell of buttery salted crackers and the luscious scent of chocolate-coated cookies.

Reaching down behind several boxes filled with miscellaneous supplies, Don pulled out a dented metal toaster. One side cracked open in his shaking hands and he fumbled but managed not to drop it onto the floor. He hugged it close to his chest and moved back by the couch and sat down on the floor next to Mikey.

"I'm hungry, Donnie," Mikey said. He watched as Don set the toaster down in front of him. His eyes drifted over to the forbidden bin filled with food. He licked his lips and his stomach cramped. He rubbed one hand against his middle. The bright pink t-shirt with the yellow smiley face crinkled with the motion. "I'm hungry."

Don leaned over and snagged one corner of his metal tool box with his finger and slid it towards him.

"I know. Be quiet, Mikey," he murmured, as he searched the interior of the tool box.

"Raph and Leo gonna bring home food?"

"M-hm," Don replied, not really listening, his cough bubbling up and bursting from between his lips. "C-Cugh, cugh."

Mikey reached down and pulled on the end of his mismatched socks covering his feet. One was blue with yellow stripes the other was solid purple. He wiggled his toes and smiled. "Can I watch t.v.?"

Don unscrewed the bottom screws and the side of the toaster came free. He shook his head.

"Dad's sleeping."

"Will you play with me?"

Don said nothing. He chewed on his thumb nail, then made a decision. Mikey huffed as Don continued to ignore him. He looked around then scooted closer to Don. With a tilted head, he watched his brother deftly take apart the toaster. The glittering and strange bits were spread out in front of him. His fingers carefully separated the pieces that were broken from the pieces that worked. His forehead dropped into a frown as he concentrated. He could fix this. He knew he could. As quietly as possible, he rummaged around the rusted box that held all his tools until he found the pliers with the pointy ends.

Mikey reached out and grabbed a hand full of pieces, accidentally scattering the rest as he pulled his arm away in a clumsy scramble to stand up. Don's face shot around.

"Hey, cugh, cugh, put that back!" Don hissed.

Mikey's grin spread as he held his fist up to further show his brother what he had snatched.

"Na, nah!" Mikey teased then with a cry of excitement spun and ran behind the couch; socks slipping against the cement floor. Don jumped to his feet. Mikey peeked around the arm of the couch. His eye brows shot up with glee as he realized his ploy to force his brother to play with him worked. Don came around from behind him suddenly and Mikey dashed forward with a mingled shriek of delight and fright; dropping the small metal fragments all over the floor. Don's feet came to a stuttering halt as his eyes followed the pieces bouncing in every direction.

"No! Mikey! Cugh, cugh, You . . . little imp! Get over here and help me pick this up!" Don shouted.

Mikey was on the other side of the room, burrowing under the blankets on their mattress. Don could hear his brother's evil giggling as he burrowed deeper like the little rat he was. He stooped to begin gathering the pieces. The last thing he needed was for their dad to step on one of the sharp fragments. He knelt and hurriedly swept a few into one hand, muttering that he'd kill his stupid brother.

Scrag yanked the blanket to the side and lumbered out from his room just behind Don. A thick blue bathrobe was wrapped around him. The sleeves rolled up and the bottom torn away to accommodate his height. Don's head snapped to look over his shoulder sensing someone behind him. His stomach plummeted. The blow from Scrag's hand sent a white flash of pain across his vision as he fell to the side with a yelp. The pieces of the toaster flew out of his hand.

"I told you to be quiet!"

"I-I'm sorry!" Coughing, Don raised himself up onto his elbow. He rolled forward onto his hands and knees. "I'll be, cugh, cugh, quiet."

Scrag took a step forward, then lurched to a stop; eyes widening. He snarled in pain as he grabbed at his leg. Don saw him reach down to pull a jagged segment of metal from the bottom of his bare pink foot. Drops of blood spattered like red paint across the grey floor. Coughing, Don gasped; he covered his mouth. The coppery scent and garish sight hit him in a wave. He paled and felt sick to his stomach. He raised up to sit on his knees.

"I-I'm, cugh, cuh, sorry, Dad," he said softly; wide eyes bouncing between the blood on the floor and his father's darkening countenance. The blind eye bulged and watered. "I-I'll get you a band-aid!" Don swallowed and looked up at his dad as Scrag stared at the object he pulled from his flesh with a confused glare. Don stood up on watery legs, he put up his hands. "L-Let me get you a band-aid." His head turned and his good eye focused on Don.

"You dim-witted little wretch." Scrag's voice dropped into a whispering snarl, "This is yours, isn't it?"

Scrag held the fragment out to Don with a jerk of his hand. Blinking furiously and shaking his head, Don shuffled back as Scrag advanced; his wrists coming up reflexively to block the oncoming blows. His cough intensified. Scrag grabbed his wrist in both his hands and pulled Don closer. He shook him roughly as his tail lashed back and forth behind him. He released one of Don's wrists and slapped him and backhanded him until both of Don's cheeks were bright red. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed. His coughing changed to a hoarse wheezing and hacking sound so overwhelming he couldn't voice the words screaming in his head that he was sorry and to please stop.

With one hand he grabbed the back of Don's neck and held him firmly. Scrag grabbed his face and squeezed his cheeks. Don's mouth hung open as he coughed and whimpered and struggled feebly; trying to pull his dad's hand away from his face; his hands pulling on the oily fur; sliding and slipping with no effect. His feet slid against the cement floor as he tried to scramble away. But Scrag held him fast. With the hand that held his jaw and cheeks, Scrag fumbled the fragment of metal that he'd stepped on between his thumb and finger. He jammed it into Don's mouth.

"Eat it!"

Sobbing and choking, Don shook his head and tried to push the blood-covered fragment from his mouth with his tongue. Scrag pushed it back into his mouth with a rough shove of his thumb; forcing it in. Don felt it cut his tongue and inside of his cheek. He clamped his hand over Don's mouth.

"Swallow it, you little wretch!"

He shook him by the head and Don's knees buckled. Scrag dropped him to the floor in a heap as a coughing fit seized him. He hacked and spit onto the floor next to the turtle.

Shaking and sobbing between coughs, Don reached into his mouth with his finger and thumb. He removed the metal fragment where it was wedged between his cheek and tongue with a trembling hand. Thick blood and spittle dripped in a long line from his bottom lip. The copper taste of blood mixed with the bitter metal flavor of the fragment filled his mouth. He stared at the jagged segment, gleaming with his blood and dropped it. It was too much. His stomach turned and he retched. Bile rose up in the back of his throat; burning and sour. He coughed and retched again; pressing his cheek against the rough floor. He moaned and closed his eyes. His brother was next to him, then. He felt a small clammy hand press on his shoulder. He cracked one eye open to see Mikey's concerned face only inches from his. His bright blue eyes filled with worry.

"Donnie!" he said with a trembling bottom lip.

Limping, Scrag moved to the water pipes. With a rough twist of the valve he turned it on and waited. Another round of coughing gripped him. He leaned on the basin in front of him for support. The pipes shook and creaked and in a sputtering burst, brown water began to flow. He waited another minute, coughing, until the water cleared to a grey color. Then he cupped his hand and drank, again and again until his parched throat was satiated. Carefully, he pulled his foot over the edge and let the water wash over the cut on his foot. He grimaced and hissed as the wound burned. He grabbed a towel hung over one of the pipes and dabbed at the cut. Again he hissed as he pressed it hard to make the blood clot. After a few minutes he removed it. A pearl of fresh blood formed, but it was better. He wrapped the towel around it and dropped his foot back to the floor.

He looked over his shoulder at the small turtles. Don was still lying on the floor, shaking and whimpering and coughing with that annoying cough. That sound that kept him up night after night for weeks now. He narrowed his eyes then turned back to the basin; watching the water swirl around in the bottom to the hole that served as a drain. His hands gripped the edge tightly. His good eye glazed over as he listened with his double senses. Their fear washed over him. He shivered with the thrill of it. But then sighed as his foot began to throb and the ache from his sore throat distracted him.

Since the runt had gotten sick he was no use to him. And he was always getting sick, it seemed to Scrag. And now he'd caught the cold. What good was he? He couldn't go to the surface with them any more for fear of his coughing giving them away. He glanced at the small refrigerator that hummed in one corner. He did repair that piece of junk. Stupid as he is, he is good at fixing things. But what more did they need? Only food. And the other two were good at bringing that home. He twisted and watched the little one help his brother sit up. A fresh wave of disgust hit him. What a feeble, useless little runt. Even the baby, Mikey, was more entertaining than this one.

His mind wandered and he thought of the little game they'd started to play. A sly smile spread over his mouth as he remembered the first time they played it.

"Let's play, Daddy!" Mikey said as he leaned on the arm rest and bounced on the balls of his feet.

Scrag watched the television as scantily clad women and men dressed in flashy outfits danced across the scene for a panel of judges. He stared intently at the exposed flesh and licked his lips. Leo sat on the floor, his shell turned to the screen as he rubbed his feet; sneaking a peek over his shoulder at the screen every few minutes. If he looked too long, Scrag would kick him in the face to regain his attention and he'd quickly go back to his duty. Every night after they'd eaten whatever meager food Scrag left for them after he'd had his fill, Raph would be in charge of cleaning up the mess left in the kitchen; Don would be playing with his tool box, sitting behind the couch and muttering quietly to himself while Leo massaged Scrag's aching joints and feet. Scrag enjoyed the feel of the turtle's small hands on him, rubbing and kneading at him. Sometimes he'd stop watching the television and stare at his hands. Thinking dark thoughts and plotting for the right time to act on them.

"Play with me," Mikey tugged on Scrag's arm.

Of all the turtles this one had no problem staying close to him. Often, he'd snuggle up on the couch and watch television with him. And he had to admit, he favored this one. He didn't know why, but he liked the way this spunky little turtle endured any of Scrag's punishments and continued to smile and laugh. Perpetually forgiving and forgetting whatever had just happened. Idly, he wondered if maybe this one was defective like the runt of the group. His quick smile and playful nature perhaps were signs of a simpleton. Too stupid to recognize danger even if it rose up and bit him on the face.

Scrag pulled his feet away from Leo and slowly, as if expecting to be kicked again, he turned around on his bottom to face the television. After a moment, he sighed and his shoulders relaxed. He draped his thin arms over the tops of his knees and watched the screen with a slightly tilted head. Scrag narrowed his eyes as he stared at Mikey and then smiled, wickedly.

"Here's a game. Hold out your hands."

Mikey's face broke into a wide grin; his dimples puckering his cheeks. He did as he was told; holding out his hands, palms down. Scrag slapped them, hard. Mikey flinched and pulled his hands into his chest; rubbing one with the other. His eyes turned glassy and a soft frown furrowed his brow.

"C'mon, don't you want to play?"

He tilted his head and hesitantly put his hands out again. Scrag slapped them again, this time even harder. A whimper broke from Mikey's throat as he pulled in his hands again. He took a step backwards. He looked at his father, a hurt expression darkening his eyes; his bottom lip poked out a little.

"Don't look like that, it's a game."

"I-It hurts," Mikey said in a soft voice. Scrag felt his stomach squirm in pleasure.

"It's supposed to, silly. That's the game."

Mikey's frown deepened. He chewed on his bottom lip.

"If you're going to be a baby, then I'm not going to play with you," Scrag shook his head and turned his attention to the television, but all the while his double senses were trained on the emotions filling the room. He could sense Mikey's confusion, his conflicting feelings of wanting to play, but the pain making him scared; Leo's unease and Raph's sharp attention from behind them, coming in angry waves from the kitchen. He hoped the quick-tempered child would get involved. Counted on it.

Mikey blinked, he looked at Leo who was watching him from over one shoulder. His eyes looked worried and sad. He turned, one hand going to the floor to brace himself as he moved to stand. Mikey pressed his lips together. He wasn't a baby.

"That's not a game," Raph's husky voice suddenly rang out, right on cue. Scrag leapt to his feet.

"What did you say?" Scrag challenged as he loomed over the thick-set little turtle.

Raph threw his towel to the floor. He pointed up at Scrag. "You're being mean to Mik-!"

The slap sent him reeling backwards onto his shell. He skidded to a stop when his head struck their make-shift sink. He grunted with the impact. Scrag was on him, punching him in the face and stomach as his arms and legs kicked and swung out frantically. Raph snarled and growled furiously sounding like an enraged kitten.

Scrag's face was a mask of delight as he rained the blows down on the little body. Every flash of pain Raph felt sent a bolt of pleasure through him. Yes, it felt good. So good. Scrag felt his heart being to hammer harder and the warmth of arousal spread through him. Visions of dragging the turtle onto his mattress, tearing into that soft flesh between his neck and shell as he mounted him leapt into his mind. But the blissful image shattered as he felt something tug and then pull on his tail. He spun around and was shocked to see Leo holding it.

"Please," he squeaked, releasing his tail. "Stop it."

Scrag advanced on him, but he stood his ground. He grabbed Leo's shoulders and felt him trembling. Scrag's pulse roared in his ears as he studied Leo's face and blue eyes filled with determination and fear. The arousal he felt as he beat the other one only spiked. Without thinking, he started to pull Leo towards his room by one arm. His heated mind filling with fresh visions of holding this one down and taking him. With hesitant footsteps, the turtle allowed himself to be led, like the obedient little slave he was. Scrag licked his lips. Yes. This was the one he wanted squirming and shuddering beneath him. This one with his soft sad eyes and careful, confident way about him. He'd waited long enough to play with this one. He didn't care anymore that he was only a child. He would have his fun at last.

"Stop it!" Mikey hollered. He ran up besides Leo. "I don't care! I want to play."

Scrag paused. He blinked. The rush subsided and he regained composure. He rubbed Leo's arm with his thumb, looking from one turtle to the next. Mikey brought up his hands; a wavering smile spread over his face. Scrag gave Leo one last hungry look then released him. He turned and immediately slapped Mikey's hands, hard. Mikey flinched then broke out in a loud, very loud, laugh. Scrag's black eye glittered with malice and glee. Leo's face darted between his baby brother and his father. He bit his bottom lip and wrung his hands together, not knowing what to do. Scrag hit him again and Mikey repeated the loud, forced laugh. It rang out in the small room, bouncing on the walls and filling in the empty space around them with a manic, desperate sound.

Raph staggered over, his cheek swollen, blood dribbled from one corner of his mouth. He watched in disbelief as his little brother played the "game" with their father. He glared at Leo who opened his mouth; looking helpless and lost. Raph huffed at him. He pressed his lips together and turned away.

"You're stupid, Mikey! And you're stupid, too, Leo!" He screamed and ran behind the couch where Don stood peeking over the back at them with wide chocolate-colored eyes.

Scrag did it again and again until Mikey's eyes watered and his hands were bright red and shaking hard.

"I-I'm done. All done now." Mikey squeaked; his voice quivering. He dropped his hands to his sides where they hung, trembling.

"You sure, baby?" Scrag asked sweetly. "I love playing with you."

"M-hm." Mikey nodded. He gave Scrag one more wavering smile and turned away. He moved quietly to the mattress. He laid down, curled up on his side, his shell facing the room. Leo moved towards him but felt Scrag grip his shoulder. He glanced up at him.

"I have a game in mind to play with you. You want to try it, son?"

His double senses picked up the wave of intense fright and confusion that washed over the young turtle. Scrag smiled and let go of him.

"Maybe later."

Leo moved across the room and laid down next to Mikey. He draped an arm around his shell and hugged him tightly. Mikey whimpered very quietly into the pillow. From behind the couch, he could hear Donnie whispering to Raph and the occasional rough sniff that came from his brother fighting his tears. He closed his eyes tightly and felt guilt tie his insides into knots.

A/N: Bring on those comments and reviews! Don't be shy! I want to hear what you think - things are picking up!